Lyre's Song
by once bitten
Summary: Bran meets someone from his past and gets the HEA he deserves.
1. Chapter 1

**REST AREA 1 MILE**

Bran Cornick glanced down, saw the tank was still three quarters full. Since he wouldn't need to top off for a few more hours he decided to take a short rest now instead of driving another thirty miles to Billings on his way home. He put his turn signal on, crossed two lanes of traffic and took the exit. Slowing the SUV, he followed the twisting road past the empty lot for semis and pulled into an open parking spot. The concrete building in front of him was just like thousands of others across the country with a men's and women's restroom, a vending machine, a couple of water fountains and a phone that may or may not work.

He needed to stretch his legs and shake off the driving induced drowsiness that always hit him after a couple of hours at the wheel. He switched off the ignition and let his head fall back against the soft leather head rest. He still had at least eight hours of driving ahead of him before he reached his home in Aspen Creek and had already been on the road since dawn.

After two weeks in Denver getting home was imperative. He'd been off balance for months now, experiencing a strange, disquieting feeling of disconnect from -- what? _reality_? _life? himself? _He didn't know what it was but it was messing with head. Screwing up his concentration more and more. Not something he'd ever thought would happen to him. The ultimate control freak.

As the Marrok he was mentally linked to every Alpha in North America and through them to each member of their pack. Could tap into their powers individually and as a whole. All of that combined with his own formidable and so far, unmatched power made him a fearsome creature. Unfortunately, he was the one afraid. If his connection to himself was screwed up then it had to be affecting his pack bonds. Oh, he still knew them, could reach out and touch or control them if he needed to, but it was different. _He_ was different.

Last year he'd tangled with a witch. A narcissistic, amoral little bitch. As evil as she was, though, she'd had no idea what she had unwittingly released in him with her magic-enhanced mind games. And as a result he had to relearn how to maintain control over his werewolves. To keep them-- and all of humanity--safe, he'd had to find and contain the Beast inside him. And he had. With the help of his son's mate he'd become better, _freer_, than ever before. And just when he was pulling out of it, leaving the Beast safely buried, his mate, Leah, had died in a car crash. Leah had been strong but even a werewolf isn't immune to physics and no one would have walked away from that hunk of twisted metal.

He was genuinely sorry she died, but he didn't miss her and didn't want her back. He hadn't loved her. Not at all. That was why he'd chosen her. And his status and wealth was why she had chosen him. He'd needed a mate, with all his baggage it had been the only way to spread out what it cost him to control the Beast he could become.

The woman had been selfish and stupid and he knew she'd thought him cold and uncaring but they'd shared enough trust and the small amount of respect necessary to make their mutually unsatisfying union work. Each of them taking from other without either one giving anything of themselves.

But now without her and oddly, without his constant struggle with the berserker rage that he finally achieved, he felt . . . adrift.

_I'll be fine when I get back to the pack. _

He opened the car door, the predator in him automatically scanning the area. He matched the few people standing nearby to their cars. Some of them searched for lost items in trunks or backseats, others stood talking while they waited for friends or family to finish using the restrooms. He was surrounded by Americana at its best. Two older couples traveling together and obviously dressed for an "occasion", a family with five children from early teens to infant making a happy noise made up of everything from quarrelling to giggling to softly hissed admonishments to behave, and three men who looked to be the same age he appeared, standing by their motorcycles drinking bottled water and debating their next destination. The only people he couldn't account for yet were the ones who belonged to the empty older model, mini-van he'd parked next to.

He was part of this moment but felt more like an invisible observer. He wished the feeling of alienation made him sad, or even angry. Instead he had the impression of being more like a balloon that was caught in a light breeze; tossed here and there touching down for just a moment before floating away again. Directionless and unconcerned.

_How poetic, Bran. But instead of a pretty red balloon all you are is lonely and feeling sorry for yourself. Charles has Anna and will never be part of your life the way he was. Samuel is suffering but is finding his way without you. The truth is the pack needs their Alpha, the Alphas need the Marrok, but nobody needs Bran. Suck it up, man, you had your time with Blue Jay Woman, most never even have that no matter how long they live._

He could have argued with himself that that had been almost two hundred years ago and it hadn't lasted nearly long enough. That the healthier he got the more lonely he was. Instead he conceded victory to his inner voice. "True enough," he said, and stepped out of the car.

"Who loves Bran?" the musical, feminine voice came to him from the picnic area to his right.

He took off his sunglasses and turned to face the woman. His movements, if watched in slow motion would have looked elegant and unhurried, were a blur of motion. _I know you._ His heart spoke clear and unmistakable almost before his eyes focused on her. But his mind was slower, muddled by the question she'd asked. His senses all sending impossible, contradictory messages.

"You do!" the answer was chirped by a little boy who couldn't be more than four years old.

"How much do I love Bran?" the young woman, her knees slightly bent and arms reaching for the boy, was playfully stalking him as he slowly backed away his hands over his belly. Her long blue-black hair was pulled back into an unsuccessful ponytail, tendrils of her hair falling to the side making it impossible for him to see her face.

Bran moved to the front of his Escalade and leaned against the hood scrutinizing the woman--lured by her voice, her words, her looks. This cheerful tableau was more real to him than anything else had been for months. He was staring, he knew it but didn't care. He had to see her face and he really wanted to know how much she loved Bran.

The boy threw open his arms, happy excitement warbling in his voice, "This much," he yelled, and turned from her and ran.

She came up behind the child who shared his name, her body movements a study in grace, betraying a definite wolf-life agility. She picked him up with one arm, tickling his belly with the other. "And how long will I love Bran?" she asked with mock sternness.

Bran found he was holding his breath. Waiting. Knowing, without knowing why, what he wanted to hear.

"Forever and ever and ever," the boy was breathless with laughter.

"That's right, and don't you forget it, little man."

***

She'd felt the presence of another werewolf when Bran and she were washing their hands. Had snuck her young charge out back preferring to avoid any contact with him. Odds were it would be a male as there weren't nearly as many female as male werewolves and he would be curious about her. His biology would demand he know her pack rank but she was a bit of an anomaly. An unmated female lone wolf, there could be others but she had never run across any. And she knew what his reaction would be and didn't want to deal with it.

Deliberately, easily for one as depressingly . . . _awesomely, _she corrected herself . . . old as herself, she and her wolf hid their scent completely. Leaving nothing but the image of a young girl, barely in her twenties for the werewolf out front to sense.

She planned for the two of them to play "hunter" behind the building until he left. But Bran, with the utter lack of cooperation three year olds could be depended on for had run to the picnic area, the greener, lusher grass there attracting him.

With a sigh, but no real worry she could brazen it out, she followed him. Her plan was simple. Scoop up Bran, buckle him in his car seat and leave. Fast. No conversation and definitely no eye contact.

Calling out to the boy, saying the words to their game just the way he expected she came out into the open subconsciously planning the altering their route for the best way to avoid the wolf. She almost stumbled when she felt his eyes on her. Oh, he had presence. He was the embodiment of presence.

_I know you._

The thought was lost in the realization that in over 1,300 years she'd never felt anything like it.

She picked up Bran and sliced a quick look at the still figure of the lithe, powerful male who, though he made no move at all, felt closer. Through the tangles of her hair she knew he wanted her to feel his closeness, his power. He wanted her to feel him.

Okay, he definitely suspected. But this wasn't about pack ranking or dominating an unmated female. This felt much more personal. And it wasn't coming just from him. Something was radiating between them. She felt it too strongly to deny. And whatever _it _was, it had nothing to do with her wolf. Her wolf was quiet, sensing no danger to her or her charge. Eanid trusted her wolf's instincts implicitly but just because he wasn't planning anything harmful didn't mean he wouldn't interfere. As interesting as this all was she had a schedule to keep, people she cared about depending on her.

He made the beginnings of a move to stop her from reaching the mini-van. She twirled with the boy in her arms, drawing another round of laughter from the warm bundle she held and avoided the body angling to intercept her.

She slid open the van door, planning on just buckling him up and climbing to driver's seat from inside to avoid having to walk past him on the sidewalk. She'd just set Bran on his feet inside the van when the boy spoke. Stridently, urgently, "I gotta' pee!"

Knowing it was futile but unable to stop herself, she tried to talk him out of it, "But you just went."

He was hopping from foot to foot, his eyes quickly becoming desperate. She knew how fiercely he wanted to be seen as a big boy and how upsetting an "accident" would be to him.

"Okay," she picked him up again, so rattled by her unsuccessful escape her wolf woke, stretched and demanded a say in what was happening. Eanid could sense her looking out through her own eyes and knew they had to be a glowing amber. With her wolf in ascendance there was no doubt he could sense what she was now.

She didn't look at him. She wouldn't. Her focus remained on the child. He was her priority and right now a great excuse to avoid a confrontation. Besides, there'd be time soon enough to deal with the stranger.

She couldn't help herself, she looked.

He was closer now, less than an arm's length away. More predatory than before. His sunglasses gone, his eyes glowed as intensely as hers.

_I know you. _It wasn't her wolf; it was her mind or maybe her heart.

Bran struggled in her arms, "I can do it myself."

"I know, sweetie," she said, setting him down, taking both his hand and a deep breath, forcing calm on herself. "Let's go."

He stalked behind them, his entire aura so completely lupine she wondered he didn't change. And she knew if she made a single movement no matter how small to avoid him, he very probably would. She wondered if it was her imagination of if she really could feel his breath warm on her neck.

Eanid shivered as she pushed open the door to the ladies room waiting for the little boy to precede her. But he ran under her arm to the door across the hall. The white stick figure of a man on a blue plaque proclaimed it off limits to her and he knew it. "Here, I can do it myself," he said defiantly, knowing she would argue with him.

"I know you can, but I have to go with you and I can't go in there," her voice was strained with the bizarreness of the situation. She looked from one stubborn face to the other. Neither one of these males was going to cut her any slack. Bran would have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the ladies room now. And the werewolf, she was sure he was an Alpha, wasn't going to let her go anywhere until he got the answers to whatever questions he had.

"I gotta' go!"

Eanid and the stranger, the _adult _stranger -- and therefore for this one moment, her comrade -- looked at one another.

He pushed away from wall he was leaning on. "How about I check inside and make sure there's no one in there?" he asked, even though both of them knew they were the only people inside, but human limitations were always catered to when possible. And without waiting for an answer he confirmed the room was indeed empty, made sure the boy could handle all the particulars of the operation himself and told him to call out when it was time to wash his hands.

The door closed behind him and he stayed there, facing her. Crossing his arms in front of him, his posture relaxed he said, "You're unmated." It was a bald statement of fact.

"True," she replied, he hadn't asked it because he already knew the answer. Just as she knew he was unmated, it was yet another of the many very personal things werewolves could sense about one another.

"No pack bonds?"

Ah, a question this time. Not because he didn't know but because he couldn't believe it. "True, again," she answered.

"Interesting."

She didn't have to say anything to that. It was his prerogative to take the questioning where he would but she knew her own worth and it was up to her to let him know what it was.

"I've always thought so," she said calmly.

"How have you managed it?" he asked, and she could sense nothing but curiosity coming from him. "You've lived here long enough to have an American accent, although it's not your first language. Does the Alpha in your area know he has a lone female wolf in his territory?"

_Oh, he didn't like that idea at all. _Maybe he thought she was living in his territory without the permission all lone wolves have to get from their local Alpha.

"Actually, I move around quite a bit and I can hide my wolf," she paused and looked at his raised eyebrow, "_usually_," she conceded. "And since I don't cause any trouble for the werewolf community I've pretty much slid under the radar since I've been here."

"You're not under the radar now. I know you're here and I can't say that I agree that your being without pack bonds is acceptable."

"But you wouldn't have to tell your Alpha about me unless he asked. I don't think the question of lone female wolves comes up too often. And since you don't know my name or where I'm going after I leave here you don't have that much to tell anyway."

"What to tell my Alpha, yes, that is a problem," he said, but he didn't sound like it was any kind of a problem at all. He sounded like he was toying with her, and she had a very good ear.

"I _am_ leaving."

"What if I don't want you to go?" he asked, and her ability to hear truth, truths the speaker didn't even know he was revealing, told her he wanted to stay for reasons that had nothing to do with pack accountability.

"I have to."

"But you don't want to," he stated, his ear just as good as hers. He stepped away from the door and came closer, and as he did he smiled at her. No, not at her. For her. And it was so stunning and so personal and she knew, a gift. One he didn't share with many others. She returned it; a feeling of homecoming sweeping through her.

"_Mirain_," he almost growled, "so very beautiful." His calloused fingers reached out and lightly touched her cheek, her jaw and his thumb traced her lower lip.

"_Pyrdferth_," she whispered, in awe of the handsomeness that was so suddenly revealed to her; that moved her so deeply. Her hand mimicked the motions of his. His full lower lip soft to her touch.

And then she knew. Of course, she knew him. Would know him anywhere. Know him forever. And she saw in his eyes that he knew her, too.

_This is Bran. My Bran. My bard. Oh my God, my Bran is the Marrok._

How absolutely unexpected.

"Eanid," he said, and even though there was shock in his tone, she knew he wouldn't believe her if she denied it. And really, she couldn't think of a reason not to acknowledge the truth.

"Bran," she started to reply but was interrupted.

"I'm done," the boy called out from behind the closed door. And from the pride in his voice she knew all had gone well.

"I'll get him," Bran muttered, obviously reluctant to move away. But still he went to the child and she could hear them talking. The high pitched ramblings of the child going on about his upcoming vacation to Yellowstone Park with his mom and dad. How he and Eanid had left his gramma's while it was still dark and they had breakfast in North Dakota, lunch in Montana and were going to eat dinner in Wyoming. She heard the deeper, soothing rumbles Bran made in reply while he washed the boy's hands, made sure they were completely dry and his shirt was tucked in just so.

She listened intently to their interaction and was reminded of how he had been when he traveled with her family. That part of him was still there, the part that made it impossible for him to rest until all the needs of everyone in his camp had been met.

_I guess that would be his pack now._

She'd had no idea that her Bran, the Bran she knew so long ago, the sensitive young man who sang so beautifully and played -- what had been so foreign and exotic to her family -- a lyre; had been changed into a werewolf.

He'd only stayed with them for that spring and summer. He'd left just as autumn was setting in saying that he would meet up with them again in a few weeks. But he never returned and she had been changed by a rogue werewolf about a year later. She was the only one of the five of them to survive the attack. And she wouldn't have survived if the wolf hunting the rogue hadn't shown up and helped her through the transition. Eventually, she'd mated with him and they had returned to his pack in France.

"I'm ready," the little boy said to her from his perch on Bran's shoulders. "And guess what! Bran is going to Jackson 'ole, Wyoming to meet somebody, just like we're going to meet mom and dad. And do you know what he told me? His name is Bran, like me."

"Is he?" Eanid asked as they turned and walked toward the parking lot. She had the odd feeling that they looked like a family to the neatly dressed, older couple who nodded in their direction as they walked by. Father, mother, son. She wondered how she felt about that.

As she made sure little Bran -- _When had they become big Bran and little Bran? -- _was secured in his car seat she asked over her shoulder, "So who are you meeting in Jackson 'ole, Wyoming, big Bran?" She exaggerated the boy's mispronunciation.

She felt his start of surprise at the name and turned around to face him while he answered her.

"A friend," he said. The moment of almost-passion between them was gone now, but the intensity was still there. "A very, very old friend I thought I lost years ago."

She couldn't help it, she was a woman and a wolf, and his scent was calling to her wolf incessantly. With every breath she took she felt like she was taking him into her. He was so powerful her skin tingled with awareness and she didn't know if she was attracted to or afraid of him.

"A very, very old friend?" she practically snapped, surprised herself at her reaction, "What a lovely way to put it."

When she reached to close the van door she deliberately shoved her back into him, making him stumble a step to the side.

Her wolf was stunned. She had recognized and accepted Bran as the Marrok and what Eanid had done was unacceptable. If the wolf had been able to separate herself from her she would have bit her. _That was stupid, Eanid. Very stupid and just maybe dangerous._

She immediately cast her eyes to the ground in front of Bran, her shoulders hunched, her hands loose at her sides. "I apologize," she said quietly but very sincerely, hoping that the truth of her words along with the presence of humans and the long ago affection they shared would let him accept the apology.

He didn't say anything and she realized after a moment that she didn't smell any aggression coming from him. She started to relax a little but still didn't change her posture.

"How about a very, very, special friend?" Bran asked, as he lifted her chin, his thumb again finding her lower lip. "Is that better?"

She didn't think about it, the craving for just a taste was abrupt and undeniable. Her tongue peeked out and barely touched his thumb before it immediately retreated. "Yes, I like that much better. Thank you," she said, but she hardly recognized her voice.

"Well, I have get going now," Eanid said, as she sidled past him and hurried to open the driver's door and situated herself inside. "We still have about six or seven hours until we get there," she smiled a little lamely through the open window, starting the van and putting it in reverse. _He's going to follow me all the way there, isn't he? Is this a date? Bran is alive. He's the freaking Marrok! Oh my God, I can't believe I pushed and then licked the Marrok! _

_ ***  
_

Bran could smell her fear and agitation, it was something he often inspired in the wolves around him. But right now though Eanid's fear was real enough, it wasn't because of his strength or his position. She was too old and had too much power herself to be flustered by a mere meeting with higher ranking werewolf.

Bran watched her slowly back up, stop and put the van in drive. Never taking his eyes off her, he willed her to look at him again. As soon as she did he lifted his thumb to his mouth and blew her a kiss good-bye. A blush suffused her cheeks, intensifying her scent even as she drove away.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Charles to let him know he wasn't keeping to his original schedule and didn't know when he'd be home.

****

Thanks for reading! Please review.

btw, I used two Welsh words in this story, they are supposed to mean 'beautiful' and 'handsome'. If they don't or I used them incorrectly please let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

She drove the speed limit the entire way. Seventy-five miles per hour for six hours straight. He was almost too amazed to be annoyed and thought that Charles would enjoy driving with her. After two semis passed them, he set the cruise control and turned up the radio, refusing to think about his reaction to her or trying to guess what had happened to her since he'd last seen her. Some things, though, he knew and didn't have to guess at, at all.

They stopped for dinner at a McDonald's with a truly magnificent Play Place. Little Bran, along with a few other children ran and slid and jumped through the tunnels, reminding Bran of drugged up gerbils in a Habitrail.

He and Eanid didn't talk much and the things they did speak of were deliberately kept to the here and now. Mostly, Bran watched her. Physically, she was just as he remembered her. Which wasn't a surprise but still intrigued him. It had been a very long time since he'd seen or even thought of her and he enjoyed reacquainting himself with her. She was short, eight or nine inches shy of his own six feet. Rich, dark brown eyes, long, thick black hair that seemed to take on a life of its own in the humidity and a classic Mediterranean complexion. And a shape that was so full of curves his eyes were continually drawn back to her. The jeans and t-shirt she wore show-casing every jiggle and arc of her feminine form.

He'd noticed how she had taken charge of meal; the table they sat at as far from others as possible. That when he'd set the tray down, she'd waited for him to choose his food first before taking her own and the boy's. The awareness she had of little Bran. All of it so distinctively lupine in nature. Eanid was far from the girl who sang and told stories with him, who only played at being a woman. Her life, whatever it had been like, and her wolf made her into a unique and confident female. Sure of her place in the world and the decisions she'd made.

Her wolf, he thought, and wondered what she looked like in that form. His wolf was intent on her as he was; he liked her smell, liked her touch. The more time he spent with her the more he demanded to come out. The wolf was a very fundamental creature. _She has no mate, no pack. _It felt very wrong to both of them. And the wolf demanded he do something about it now.

_It's not your choice brother-wolf, it's mine. And maybe, a little, hers. _

He knew she was a dominant but not overly aggressive. His finger absently caressed his thumb where she had licked him. She had the usual desire for physical contact that all wolves did, he wondered how she managed to live comfortably as a lone wolf.

When it was time to leave and she was bent at the waist, practically having to crawl inside the ball cage to get the boy out. Bran saw he wasn't the only one to notice how well the casual clothes complimented her shape. An employee, a boy in his teens, holding a spray bottle in one hand while he blindly swiped at a table with the rag he held in the other, was enjoying the view a little too much in Bran's opinion. He snatched the child's sneakers off the seat next to him went to stand behind Eanid; blocking his view with his body and fighting the urge to bare his teeth at him.

***

They finished the last leg of the trip just after 8:00 when they pulled into the parking lot of a hotel in Jackson Hole. Eanid must have called ahead because just as she was getting out of the van a couple opened the lobby doors and hurried outside to greet them.

Bran stayed where he was while they unloaded the luggage and the father handed the lax, sleeping body of his son into the waiting arms of his wife. All the while, they chatted softly and closed the doors gently in an obvious attempt to keep from waking the child.

While the mother stood holding the little boy, the father and Eanid started gathering the suitcases and backpacks, Bran decided it was time to introduce himself. As he grabbed the small duffle bag that held everything he'd need for an overnight stay he wondered what Eanid would tell them about him, wondered if he would go along with whatever it was. He got out of his SUV, closed and locked the door and walked over.

"Hello, " he said, nodding to the women and putting his hand out to shake the man's hand. "I'm Bran Cornick."

He knew what he they saw when they looked at him, a young man with a slight build and unremarkable features. His light brown hair was cut a little long; his smile disingenuous. He looked more like a computer geek than anything else, he'd been told and his mirror told him it was nothing but the truth.

"Mark Crowther," the man said, returning Bran's handshake, "this is my wife, Liz. Eanid says you're on your way back to the University of Montana and you're going to show her around the campus while we're at Yellowstone?" His tone made it a question and not knowing what else Eanid had said he wasn't sure how to answer.

"How about we go inside and get this little guy tucked into bed. Then we can visit," Liz said, with a smile before Bran could think of a reply. "He feels about twenty pounds heavier when he's asleep," she explained, and without waiting for anyone else, turned to go back inside the hotel. The moment they hit the bright lights of the lobby, though, the child woke and greeted his parents with a host of whines and complaints he must have been saving up just for them.

Mark smiled a little ruefully at his son and said, "Maybe we'll have to put off the visit until tomorrow. Eanid, we got a room for you, the clerk will give you the key." He fixed Bran with hard look, "He said there are a lot of rooms available since it's the middle of the week. So you won't have any trouble getting one for yourself."

"That's good to know," Bran replied, agreeably, "I'll take care of that right now."

"Good," said Mark; his ruffled feathers soothed now, he smiled. He was Brans's height, and was probably usually as unassuming and pleasant as he looked. With his brown hair and wire frame glasses he didn't seem the type to play the fierce protector of maidenly virtue. But there was a core of steel in the man and he protected those in his care. Bran found himself both approving of and liking the young man.

"Well then," said Mark, "we'll see you in the morning. We'll all probably want to sleep in so we'll give you call when were up and dressed."

"Sounds good to me," Eanid agreed, and gave his arm a light squeeze. Mark nodded, then took his struggling son from his wife.

"I'm going to take him up to our room. He's not getting any happier. See you in a few minutes, hon."

Eanid gave the other woman a hug, "Don't worry about us, you guys sleep as late as Bran'll let you"

Bran left her side and walked over to the front desk. They were the only ones in the lobby so when he pulled his wallet out he was immediately waited on by the clerk. While he went through the rituals of registering, though, he listened to Eanid's conversation. Deciding it was best to know whatever story she came up with for her employer about their relationship.

_Relationship, what was their relationship? The last time he'd seen her their relationship had been pretty damn intense. _

"Eanid," Liz asked, sounding a little worried, "how well do you know this Bran? I don't remember you ever mentioning him before. There are two queen size beds in our room, you can share one with Bran if you want." She stopped talking and then hurriedly clarified, "_Little_ Bran, I mean."

Both women laughed. "Thanks for the offer, Eanid said, "but he's really a good guy and I've known him forever. I just haven't seen him in a really long time. He moved away years ago and we lost touch."

"His is kinda cute," Liz replied, Bran could feel both women watching him as he handed his credit card to the clerk.

"I'm not surprised you think so," Eanid's voice was layered with meaning. And by the sound of Liz's startled laughter she must have figured out what she meant.

"Well if you're sure you're fine, I'm going to head off to the room. I'm beat. We drove almost as far as you did today," Liz said. She stopped and picked up her son's suitcase and Spiderman backpack on her way to the elevator.

He heard Eanid walking toward him. The flat sandals she wore making almost no sound at all. _She's probably as off-balance as I am. _And Bran could smell how tired she was, they both were. Fatigue and confusion were a bad combination for their wolves.

The phone behind the desk rang and clerk excused himself to answer it. As Bran put his card away and waited for the man to finish the call he wondered why he was even here. What he expected to happen between him and Eanid.

Of course he wanted to talk with her, find out about her life. He'd cared for her a long time ago and was happy to find her again. He wanted to hear her story, how and why she'd become a werewolf. But he didn't lie to himself, he'd been acting on instinct since he saw her. It was the unprotected way she was living that was riling his emotions. He thought, was sure, he'd be able to tamp down his aggression once he knew she was safely part of a pack. As much as he disliked Eanid's lone wolf status he had no right to force her to join his pack. He always let his wolves live where they were most comfortable as long as they didn't endanger their community.

_My pack._

_No._ He was her friend as well as the Marrok, she hadn't threatened him or any of his wolves it should not be so difficult to show her consideration. But it was, and Bran wondered at the struggle. He breathed in again and the scent of lilies filled him. As cool and refreshing as the woman who wore it.

He hoped with everything in him this emotional roller coaster he was riding wouldn't trigger his rage because it seemed he wasn't going to be able to back off. Man and wolf were both caught up in the hunt. And Bran Cornick had no taste for losing his prey.

He turned to face her as she got closer. Their eyes locked, not in a dominance play but a much more human searching. His wolf was again reacting to her packless status. _It is wrong to be without a pack_, but he was glad. _She has to have an Alpha._ Would submit herself to him as her Alpha.

He looked at the car keys she held in her hand. Was reminded how she had avoided telling him where she was going when she left here. She was acting as though she had the right to _leave_ him. His wolf was as dominant and possessive as the man and they didn't like that.

She stopped moving and he breathed again, imprinting her on his every sense.

Nervousness; excitement. _Because of me? _Her body was soft and in some indefinable way reaching out to him. _Oh yeah, because of me._ He made her heart beat fast, her breathing rapid. Was she remembering their time together in Gwent? When he first realized who she was he thought he had forgot. Now he remembered everything. She was breathing with her mouth open just a little, tasting him in the air. Yes, she was remembering, too. Good.

She wasn't going to be alone in her room. He would stay with her. If he had to, he'd sleep on the floor. She would be protected.

She wanted to run. Run from him. Away from him. She might try it. _Yes, let her run. It won't matter because she can't run fast enough. I can find her. I can smell her, the scent of her body, of her fear. I am stronger, she _has_ to come when I call. And when she submits herself, when I have her blood in my mouth and mine is in hers I will . . . _

"Excuse me, sir," the clerk said. Bran's eyes were unfocused and he was swaying a little. A growl was building at the back of his throat and he whipped around to face him.

"Here's your key, sir, your room is right across the hall from your brother's," the man's voice was barely a whisper and he refused to look up from the polished oak of the front desk. Even the human was aware of the predator in front of him.

"My brother?" Bran repeated dumbly. His mind totally and utterly blank.

Within the space of a breath Eanid was next to him holding out her hand for his key and asking for her own.

***

Eanid had been so caught up in Bran's struggle with his wolf she hadn't been able to move. The need to change and run and hide from him had overwhelmed her. She'd definitely wanted to runaway from him. But her wolf was more honest. _Change,_ she'd urged. _Make him chase us._

_She had wanted that, too. All of it. To run, to hide . . . to get caught._


	3. Chapter 3

_Eanid had been so caught up in Bran's struggle with his wolf she hadn't been able to move. The need to change and run and hide from him had overwhelmed her. She'd definitely wanted to runaway from him. But her wolf was more honest._ Change, _she'd urged._ Make him chase us.

_She had wanted that, too. All of it. To run, to hide . . . to get caught._

Chapter 3

Words, she had to find words to get Bran to come with her without agitating him anymore than he already was.

Standing next to him, leaning into his strength, Eanid said softly, "Let's go outside for a few minutes." His hand wrapped around her arm as he silently steered her into the cool night air.

"This way," he said, and they went around the side of the hotel to a large ornamental pond with benches scattered conveniently near the water's edge. He led her to the closest one and collapsed onto it, pulling her down with him and stared out at the water.

Free of his grasp, Eanid kicked off her sandals and settled herself a couple of inches away from him. Without lifting his gaze he immediately pulled her back. Then he sighed and let go.

They were both quiet for a few minutes. "Why don't you tell me what's going on, Eanid?" Bran broke the silence, he sounded weary but much more in control.

Eanid found herself reacting to his calm and relaxed into the curve of wood at her back. "Okay, what do you want to know first?" she asked.

"How about you tell me why the guy at the front desk thinks Mark Crowther is my brother."

"You two do look enough alike to be related . . ." Eanid started, but didn't know where to go from there and her voice trailed off.

"That's the truth but not all of it. Tell me the rest."

She felt the command in his voice and had no choice but to respond the best she could. "You remember how we lived in Gwent, don't you? How we . . . the time . . ., " she stopped and felt his hand tangle in her hair. The touch was comforting rather than commanding and steadied her nerves, she sighed and continued, "My mother was sick and my father was away and nobody else was paying any attention to us. Well, I know you remember."

"I do."

"Then you also remember that you left a couple of weeks later and I never heard from you again," she stated, nothing in her voice giving away how devastating that time had been for her.

"And?" he urged.

She turned on the bench to face his profile, wrapped her arms around her bent legs while she tucked her feet under his thigh. "And we had a daughter," she said, and watched him wondering what he was thinking. His face gave nothing away.

"Ah, a daughter," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't know. I never guessed."

"No, I didn't think you had."

"And these Crowther's are descendants of ours? Mark and Bran?"

"I don't count the 'greats' anymore, but yes they are our grandchildren."

His hand came up to rest on her knee. "I would have come back, but I was changed right after I left you. And then my mother . . .," he spoke in a low murmur.

"I know what she did. Bran," there probably weren't many werewolves left who remembered what the witch had done to him and his son. Or what Bran had become when he escaped her, but she did, "none of it was your fault," she didn't try to hide the outrage she felt at the abuse he endured.

"But is that why you never told me, never contacted me in all these years?"

"No, Bran, of course not. I had no idea _you _were Bran _Cornick_. We didn't really have last names back then, did we? You were _Bran yr prydyddion_. A bard from Dyfed, I thought you just took off. That we both were changed -- who in their right mind would think something like that could happen?" as she spoke she slipped a hand under his and held it in both of hers. She looked down and saw his long, elegant fingers entwined with her own smaller, darker ones.

"It does seem unlikely," he agreed, his hand squeezed hers lightly and then released his hold. "So you had our daughter. Then what?"

"I stayed with my parents, my da was hired by some minor lord that winter and not long after that I was attacked by a rogue. The other women with me all died of their injuries but I survived."

"How did you handle the transition?"

"There was a werewolf hunting the rogue, he found me and taught me what I needed to learn to survive. We stayed in Wales until Genna's children were grown. Eventually we went to his pack in France."

"Genna?"

"Oh, Bran, you would have loved her. She was beautiful and talented. Sweet and kind and very, very, bossy. She looked just like you. She had your smile and fair skin, but her hair was a darker brown than yours and thick like mine. And such a voice. It still turns up every couple of generations, the gift you gave our daughter."

"She looked like me _and_ she was beautiful?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Yes she did and yes she was. And I can prove it," she said. Eanid pulled a cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, flipped it open and used her thumb to press a few buttons. Pride and love filled her as she looked at the picture before handing it to Bran, "See?"

He reached out almost hesitantly and his eyes filled with wonder as he looked at the portrait of the daughter he never knew. Wolves weren't ashamed of their emotions and he made no attempt to hide the sheen of tears Eanid saw in his eyes. "_Mirain_," he whispered, as he thumb traced over the small screen.

"I had her portrait painted right after she had her first child," she said softly, leaning over to see the picture, "It's kind of blurry, but I still have the original. Do you see what I mean about the smile? That is so you."

"It is, isn't it?" he said, sounding shocked but pleased.

Bran looked at her, his gaze intense and sincere. "There are no words to thank you enough for this," he said, gesturing to the phone. "For raising and loving my daughter," his head nodded in the direction of the hotel, "for watching over and loving family I didn't know I had."

"Genna was a gift I did nothing to deserve and without you I wouldn't have had her or a real purpose in my life. Thank _you_," she said, kissed him lightly on the cheek and sat back, looking out at the pond's surface.

"If you want I can email a copy of the portrait to you," she said. "The .png I have on my laptop is so much better. The pixel count on my phone sucks, I should buy a new one. But I've been waiting for Motorola to release their latest one." Eanid stopped abruptly and then said with an unapologetic shrug, "I'm kind of geek. Electronics, computers, Star Trek, comics, I know way too much about all of them."

"Original or Next Generation?" Bran inquired, as he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle.

"Original but I have a deep and abiding love for Worf," Eanid answered after thinking it over.

"Marvel or DC?"

"How can anyone pick between Superman and Captain America?" she asked. "Can you?"

"Superman," he replied instantly. Then asked, "Apple or PC?"

Eanid just laughed.

"Yeah, stupid question."

They were both quiet again. After Eanid put her phone away, Bran reached out and put his arm around her tucking her in close. But this time there was no tension in the stillness between them and sounds of the night soothed them even more.

After a long while Bran asked, "You mated to the hunter who found you?"

"Yves, yes. He was a kind mate to me. We had many good years together," she said. There was no need to go into the particulars of her time with Yves. There had been true affection between them and she had grieved deeply and sincerely when he died. But maybe because of the way they met there had always been too much of the Protector and the Protected between them. She had sometimes wanted to ask him if he realized the wounds that had changed her had healed long ago.

"He died?"

"Right after the American Revolutionary War. Yves wanted to start his own pack in the frontier in western Ohio but there was fight for leadership and he lost," she said. It had been bloody and brutal, Yves neck had been broken and as his body laid there twisted and bleeding the new Alpha's mate had looked at her and Eanid had known she would not be welcomed into the pack. She understood. The wolf didn't like to have its authority challenged and as the mate of the wolf who'd fought the Alpha, Eanid would have been a constant irritant to her.

"What did you do then?"

"I was going to go back to France but when I got to western Pennsylvania I found a community of Welsh immigrants. It was a good place and I decided I didn't have to part be part of a pack if I had family around me. So I arranged to have money sent to Rhett Crowther in Wales and made sure there was a job waiting for him when he got there with his family," she said. "When he did, I got hired on as nursemaid/nanny and have been living with or near Crowther's ever since. They've never been a very fertile family so it hasn't been difficult to keep track of them."

Bran's cell phone rang, he pulled it out and turned it off without looking at it. "Will you come to Aspen Creek with me? There will be a full moon next week and it's been long time since you hunted with a pack."

"If I go there, will you let me leave?" Eanid asked, she wasn't stupid she knew Bran's wolf was howling for him to make her part of his pack.

"I'm the Marrok," he said. She guessed that was his way of saying _No, I won't, but it's not my fault._

"That's not an answer," she replied. She understood and respected pack hierarchy but she'd lived on her own for too long to be constantly asserting her dominance over some and submitting to others. _Okay let's be honest, it's not the asserting that bothers me it's the submitting to all the mated females._

"If you really want to leave and I can be sure of your safety. Yes, I'll let you go. No. I don't know," he said, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, "Damn it, Eanid, you know what happens to unmated males when they sense you." He got up and started pacing in front of the bench. "As much as we might like to believe the human in us can control the wolf, it's not always true. Isn't that why you learned to hide the scent of your wolf? And you can't be sure your ability to hide your wolf will always work."

"It has for over two hundred years," she pointed out.

He didn't look impressed, "Not today," he countered.

"No, you're right, it didn't work today," she said. _Not with you_.

"Listen, Bran, you've impacted my life hugely. I like you, I'm unbelievably impressed with what you've accomplished at the Marrok, I'd be hurt if you cut me out of your life. But the truth is we only knew each other for a few months and that was centuries ago. I'm not going to let you make life-altering decisions for me." And then wondered at her inability to keep to mouth shut at that. "Right now," she said softly, "all I know for sure is that I'm attracted to you. Not if I can trust you."

He stopped in front of her and almost growled, "You tell me you're the mother of my only daughter, that you've spent centuries nurturing my descendants and then you want me to let you just walk away? No bonds, no way to know if you're safe or if you need me? Forget that I'm the Marrok, forget trust, how could you respect me if I did that?"

He held out his hand and pulled her up to stand in front of him, "Bran, I have no intention of taking off and never contacting you again. I haven't been hiding from you anymore than you abandoned me," Eanid said, and backed up a step to slip her sandals back on. "I didn't know you were alive."

She put a hand on his chest and looked straight into his eyes, "If you think we need to do more than exchange phone numbers for you to be comfortable," she said, and glared at his snort of derision, "I'll consider it." She continued, "You want me to honor the needs of you and your wolf, fine, I will. But you have to do the same for me." She held his gaze, determined not to drop her eyes until he agreed with her.

"And what needs do you have?" the words were a low rumble.

"I don't want to regret finding you, Bran. You have to promise me that just because you can force me to live wherever you want, you won't. Let me have a say in whether I join a pack and which one it is," Eanid said, needing him to hear conviction in her voice.

Bran didn't say anything but jerked his head in a nod.

She didn't know whether to accept that or not. It bothered her he hadn't spoken his agreement, without words it was hard to judge if he was telling the truth, but now wasn't the time to force the issue.

"Also, I don't want to spend two weeks with my tail tucked between my legs and lowering my eyes every time some mated female walks by. And I don't want unmated males cornering me and finding excuses to rub up against me," she said,

"There's nothing I can do about the female hierarchy," he said, and wrapped his arms around holding her close, "but you can be sure not a single male will even think of leaving his scent on you."

"You fall into the category of unmated males, Bran," her voice was muffled against the front of his shirt, "and there isn't a werewolf on this continent who wouldn't recognize your scent on me right now."

"Then I'll clarify what I said," his voice still unnaturally low, "not a single male, other than me, will think of touching you this way. They won't think of touching you at all." As he spoke, one hand gently lifted her hair and took possession of neck and the other slid down to the small of her back.

_Oh, but it feels good to be held like this. How long has it been since I had anything like this? How long since I wanted this?_

Unthinkingly, she moved in his embrace. The pleasurable friction it caused brought a soft moan to her lips. The scent of her desire filled the air. While she felt Bran's chest expand as though he wanted to take all of it inside him, his own desire rose up to meet hers. The scent of him, the stimulating but indefinable scent made her want to burrow inside him until she found its source. She stirred against him again and this time met his body, now hard and demanding with what she made him feel.

Bran bent his head and nipped at her ear before whispering, "When I let go of you turn around and walk slowly back to the hotel. Do. Not. Run. Go straight to your room. When I knock on the door let me in and get under your covers. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me."

He didn't wait for her agreement before his lips came down on hers. Brutally tender, his mouth and hands invaded and conquered everywhere they touched. She stood almost passive while his intimate touches and hot breath brought her body to aching awareness. She knew any move on her part would bring it all to an end. But when he licked her neck just below her ear and then grazed his teeth hard across the spot, she came alive in arms.

Gentle but demanding, she slipped one hand under his shirt to caress and relearn the feel of him, her fingers curled and her nails scored lightly down his back. With the other she pulled his collar out of the way and kissed the exposed skin of his shoulder wrenching a groan of pure need from him. Pleased with his response she gently licked him, the taste of salt and Bran sending a shiver through her right before she bit down; giving into the need to leave her mark on this man.

He yanked her hips to his and ground himself against her, and held her there. Neither of them moved, not even to breathe. Then he let his arms drop from her and stepped back.

"Go, now."

She didn't see his lips move but his words rang in her head. She nodded and in a sensual daze walked back to the hotel.


	4. Chapter 4

_She didn't see his lips move but his words rang in her head. She nodded and in a sensual daze walked back to the hotel._

Chapter 4

"What are you going to tell your sons when they ask why you brought me here?" Eanid asked surprising Bran with the question. She'd been asleep for over an hour and he hadn't noticed that she'd woke up.

They'd reached Aspen Creek a few minutes ago and Bran had turned off the air conditioner and opened the windows as the passed the town's 'business district' to let in the sounds and night air of his home. That's probably what woke her. "I don't suppose 'It's none of your business' will work," Bran said, as he slowed down and turned onto the road that led to his house.

"Nope, not for your sons or your pack. In fact, when you figure it out, I'd like to know, too," she said, and grabbed her overnight bag from the backseat and took a smaller bag out of it. When he brought the Escalade to a stop in the driveway of a large two story house she hopped out.

Eanid was almost to the porch when she noticed he hadn't moved. She turned around to face him but kept walking. "Bran, if you want me to help carry in our stuff, I swear I will. But first, you have to tell me where the nearest restroom is," she barely more than mouthed the words, but he had no problem hearing her.

"Through the foyer, second door on the right," he told her, and laughed when she turned and sprinted inside.

He had their bags secured in his grasp when he noticed her purse sitting on the back seat. He was tired and didn't want to make another trip outside so he started to set down some so he could open the door. He changed his mind and put them all on the smooth salmon colored concrete when he heard Charles' truck turn onto his street and then make its way up his driveway. While he waited for Charles to park he retrieved the purse and shut the door.

"Da," Charles greeted him as he stepped out of the truck and Samuel got out on the passenger side. "What's going on? I thought you were going to be gone a few more days. Sage called and told Anna she saw you drive by when she was leaving the restaurant."

Samuel gave his father a hug and said, "She also said you had a passenger." Bran followed his son's gaze to the flowered bags on the ground mixed in with his own dark blue ones and then to the purse he still held. "I'm guessing it was a female one, Charles" he said dryly, and laughed at the look on his father's face when he dropped it on top of the luggage.

"Is there a problem with her, Da?" Charles asked casually.

"No," Bran answered, "she's a friend. A wolf I knew a long time ago.

"_You_ knew a long time ago," Samuel clarified. "As in, _we_ don't?"

"Exactly," said Bran, deliberately kept his answers as short as possible. "What was so important that you game over here as soon as you found out I was back? It can't be because I have guest."

"No," Charles started to answer him, "Da, Samuel heard something in Washington," but his brother interrupted him.

"That can wait a few minutes," he said, moving to sit on the porch steps. "Da's obviously all right, and I'm curious about his guest. Is she the reason you called Charles and left that cryptic message about being delayed?"

"Yes, she's the reason, and the message wasn't cryptic, it was succinct," Bran said, and leaned back against the hood of Charles's truck. He crossed arms and his kept his posture relaxed as he watched Charles lean against the porch to Samuel's left, his stance unconsciously mimicking his own.

When it became clear that neither one of them was going to say anything until he volunteered more information Bran relented, "I ran into her on the way home, she was on vacation and I asked her to spend it here."

Samuel apparently found his answer lacking in detail, "Ah, but Da, did you ask her to spend it here, in Aspen Creek or here, with you?"

"Does it matter?" Bran asked, his body tensing just a little.

"That would depend on the answer," Samuel's laugh ended in a yelp when Charles' fist came down hard on his upper arm.

"Da, it's none of our business who you invite here," he said, and glared at his brother, "or why. But," Charles shrugged, "if there's something about her you're not telling us that we need to know. . ."

Bran had hoped to put this off at least until tomorrow. After he'd had time to think through all the possible consequences to any decision that was made, before letting his sons chew it over. But it didn't really make any difference. They'd know as soon as they were in the same room as Eanid and he might as well get it out of the way now.

"Besides being a friend, she's also a female who doesn't have a pack. And I didn't want her unprotected while the issue was resolved."

"Doesn't have a pack? How can she not have a pack?" the confusion in Charles's voice was understandable and Bran knew what he was thinking. Wolves moved from pack to pack but there were only two ways to leave a pack, the first was simple; you got the permission of your Alpha to leave and you either joined another or asked an Alpha to live as a lone wolf in his territory. The second way was equally simple but more permanent, your Alpha put you down. Outside of that there was only one way to live as a werewolf without pack bonds and that was to go rogue.

Since none of them knew of an Alpha who would condone the havoc having a female lone wolf in their territory could stir up their was only one conclusion Charles could come to.

"Da", said Charles, looking at the luggage next to the SUV, "I've seen you bring in rogues before but, ah. You've never been so civilized about it before."

"She's not a rogue," Bran said. "Well, technically, I suppose she is," he paused, and had to consciously remind himself that she was under his protection and no one was going to hunt her down. "She's more of a lone wolf, than anything else. Not a danger to anyone."

"_She's_ a lone wolf who is technically a rogue?" said Samuel. "And you brought her to your home to . . .?"

"Visit," Bran said, a layer of steel in his voice that should have been a warning.

"I see," Samuel's slightly questioning, oh so very poised acceptance of Bran's inadequate answer was a deliberate parody of Bran's usual manner.

"Da, _did _you hunt her down?" Charles said, drawing Bran's attention away from his, at the moment, least favorite son.

"No, I didn't," Bran replied, trying to find his typical imperturbability, "I invited her here just as I said,"

"So, just visiting, huh?" Charles said, as he took a seat on the porch one step below his brother. "You going to find a pack for her?" He elbowed Samuel's leg and made more room for himself. When Bran didn't reply, Charles inquired, "Or is she going to join ours?"

"Possibly," Bran finally answered. He wanted to follow Eanid inside, get something to eat, stretch out on the couch and watch some tv. But Charles was his second and had the right to know about anything that affected the pack. Bran pinched the bridge of his nose and continued, "we haven't come to an agreement about that yet."

"So, if she decides not to join your pack you'll find another Alpha for her?" Samuel asked, as though it was a foregone conclusion.

"No," Bran said.

"No?" Charles sounded surprised. "Just what the hell are you going to do with her, then?"

"Are you going to make her a lone wolf?" Samuel asked incredulously.

"No, I'm not," Bran spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly.

"You won't make her stay but you won't let her leave?" Samuel said. "Da, have you considered that you might to be too. . .ah, influenced by your _friendship_ to handle this properly?"

"Da, you're going to have to tell us more so we can understand," Charles said, evenly, "What's her name?"

"Eanid," he told him, "Eanid . . ."

Bran watched as Samuel's and Charles' snorts of disbelief quickly became howls of laughter as it sank in that their da, the all powerful, all knowing Marrok, the man who knew so much about so many he creeped out fea, vampire, human and werewolfkind alike; didn't know the woman's last name. Bran shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable while he waited patiently for their amusement to run its course.

He could have stopped them with a single thought. The only reason he didn't was because he knew he'd earned this reaction. He hadn't thought through what he was doing or why. Keeping Eanid with him was all he'd wanted and he'd taken full advantage of her situation so he could do it.

"Bran?" Eanid called. She was standing on the porch looking down on all three of them, her eyes snapping with vexation, the open screen door resting against her barefoot. Her arms were crossed in front of her, one finger tapping out her impatience on her forearm. Her recently brushed long, black hair was loose around her shoulders and her generous mouth was pulled tight in disapproval. With the sleeveless light blue top and white shorts she wore, Bran realized she was more intimidating and more beautiful than any twenty-one year old looking woman he'd ever seen.

At the sound of her voice his boys had immediately shut their mouths and stood up.

"Are those your children?" she said sounding as though she's just spotted a couple of unruly two year old playing in a mud puddle.

Bran nodded. He wasn't a stupid man. Silence was his best chance of ensuring none of that feminine wrath changed direction to come after him. Failing that, short answers of wholehearted agreement were the next best option.

"And do you suppose there's any chance they are unaware you drove almost seven hundred miles today?" Eanid queried, sounding calmer, but still annoyed.

Bran raised an eyebrow at his sons in question and interpreted their shrugs correctly.

"Yes, Eanid, they are aware of it," he told her.

"Really? And do they know you've been away for two weeks and have to get up early tomorrow?" she asked.

"I would think they must," he answered, a slight smile curling his lip.

"Well then, is there any possibility they might be persuaded to bring those bags in for you? So you can sit down and make yourself comfortable while they interrogate you some more about the doings in your own home?" her voice was almost thick with a Welsh brogue by the time she finished speaking.

Though her question had been directed to Bran, she stared at the 'children' in question until they both moved in the direction of driveway. When they did, she went back into the house letting the screen door slam shut behind her. Immediately, she opened it again and said, "Surnames have never been of much interest to me and your da didn't seem to think he should refuse his friendship because I didn't offer to tell him mine. But as you're so all fired up about it, my driver's license says Eanid Barton. Do with that what you will."

She disappeared into the house again but kept her voice loud enough for them to hear her as she continued, ". . . disrespect their own da, and him standing there like a dummy letting them act like loons . . ."

"Da," Samuel said, "we're sorry. We didn't mean anything."

"No, I know," Bran said, absently, still staring up at the door where Eanid had stood, "it's fine. Really."

"I guess we've been put in our place, big brother" Charles said, "come on, let's get this stuff inside and show Eanid we can mind our manners when we put our minds to it."

"Take your time," Bran told them. Without acknowledging them, he strode into his house.

She was in the study, curled in a large leather club chair, looking through a coffee table book of black and white photographs. He stood in the doorway and let the memory of what she'd just done sweep through him again. And this time he let himself feel every one of the emotions she'd stirred in him.

Bran knew he had the love and respect of many people. Not least of all, his sons. There were wolves and men who would lay down their lives without question just because he asked it of them. He had good, strong friendships that were equal in give and take. He had once been blessed with the love of a good woman. A very good woman and part of him would always love her.

But never before -- not in all his considerable long life -- had someone done for him what Eanid had just done.

She'd protected him.

Protected his feelings and his privacy. Not because she thought he wasn't capable but because his discomfort bothered her. She hadn't cared that they thought her being in his home was odd. She'd cared that he was getting annoyed. That he was inconvenienced, that he might be embarrassed. And her concern that he was being pushed too far had nothing to do with demon of rage that lived inside him or the disapproval of the Marrok. But because she knew he was tired from driving and would rather go inside and relax than listen to their foolishness.

He was in awe of her, he was humbled by her. And she didn't have a clue.

"Eanid," he said. She had to have known he'd been standing there but had let him take as long as he liked to speak.

She smiled over at him from where she sat. "Bran, did you see their faces when I finished with them?" she asked, "Your Samuel was blushing and I thought Charles was going to hide under his truck."

"Eanid, come here," Bran said, and held out a hand to her.

She set the book down and uncurled from the chair. "Is something wrong?" she asked, stepping around the table.

"Only that I need to touch you almost as much as I need to know you want me to," he said.

When she reached him, he held her tight. His hands ran over her body molding her to him, his face buried in her hair.

"Bran, you feel so good," she breathed, and his arms tightened for a second.

"I'm glad I found you again, Eanid," he said, as he let her go, "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I Bran Cornick," she told him. "Now why don't you tell your boys they can come in. I think they have something to tell you that doesn't have anything to do with the _rogue _you brought in."


	5. Chapter 5

_"So am I Bran Cornick," she told him. "Now why don't you tell your boys they can come in. I think they have something to tell you that doesn't have anything to do with the rogue you brought in."_

**CHAPTER 5**

Eanid was sitting alone in the study when Bran came into the room almost an hour later. His thick brown hair was still slightly damp from his shower and he'd changed into a pair of dark blue jeans and plain white t-shirt.

She watched him walk across the room her gaze touching on the short sleeves of the t-shirt that showcased the lean strength of his upper arms, then skimming down over his long legs encased in the loose fitting jeans. "Did you get something to eat?" he asked, as he opened the French doors and stepped out onto the deck and its view of the mountains.

Her eyes dropped to the unimpeded view of his backside. Eanid had been told more than once that the Marrok had a powerful personality, that his wolf was dangerous and dominant but that the man himself was unremarkable; average.

"Are you hu…," Bran turned back to her and smiled when he caught the direction of her gaze.

She could feel the blush that stole over her face, but it had nothing to do with embarrassment and she returned his smile with one of her own.

_Unremarkable? Only to the deaf, dumb and blind. _

"Charles and Samuel and I had scrambled eggs and bacon," she told him, setting down the book she'd been reading. "I apologized for my show of temper earlier. I'm pretty sure we're all friends now," she shrugged lightly, but knew that wasn't completely true. The two men were fiercely protective of their father, whether he needed it or not. They wanted to know just exactly what she was to Bran; if she was a threat to him in any way.

She wished she knew.

Her wolf was all about him. Hands down. Slam dunk. No fears. Bring on the full moon. The wolf _wanted_ to be part of his pack.

The girl she had been still cared for him. Her first love and father of her beautiful Genna. She hurt for the pain she knew he still lived with. For the monster he had become after he killed his mother to escape her evil control of him. A part of Eanid ached to share that pain, to help take it away.

And there was no doubt the woman she was now wanted him. In the most physical and intimate ways a woman could want a man. But how much of herself could she give him and still be able to walk away? She knew herself well enough to know she would not, _could _not stay as part of his pack and not be his mate. The Alpha female in her could accept nothing else. If he offered her everything, though, would it be right to accept it?

Bran's head tilted, his golden brown eyes watching her closely. _I can smell your agitation and your want, Eanid. _The words slipped into her head, startled she looked at him and saw his hands fisted on his thighs. _Come to me and I'll sooth you. _The carnal heat suffusing the thought shot a thrill through her entire body. Their eyes met, and her voice was husky, "I can't," she told him. She saw surprise on his face. He hadn't meant to share that with her.

_Oh, damn. _Maybe Samuel and Charles had good reason for their hyper vigilance.

_******_

Bran looked away from her and called to the door, "Come in." He walked fully into the room and lounged at one end of the dark gray leather sofa, his expression losing all trace of the emotion and vulnerability she had seen so clearly just a moment before. All she could sense from him now was calm and mild curiosity about whatever it was that Charles and Samuel were here to tell him.

The two men strode in, gave Eanid a nod and then settled themselves in chairs opposite their father and at an angle from her.

"We really don't know if this is important, and Charles and I couldn't figure out who exactly it is that's being threatened," Samuel began, stretching his legs out and laying an arm along the arm of chair. "Uncle Mike called me three days ago. It seems Angus the Gruff told a friend of his he was going to Yellowstone to snatch up "the kin of the loathsome taffy what stole his magic wand". When this fae found out that you were the 'loathsome taffy'," Samuel smiled at the description, "he decided he was better off telling Mike than ending up on the bad side of the Marrok."

"Did you steal a magic wand, Da?" Charles asked, with a smile of his own.

Bran shrugged dismissively, "Angus challenged me to came of chance a long time ago. He lost. He's been calling me a thief ever since," he didn't look as though it bothered him. "Did Mike tell you anything more about whoever it is Angus is after? Could it be someone from the pack?"

"No, I contacted everyone in the pack, nobody had plans to go to Yellowstone and just in case I told them to stir clear of the place until further notice," Samuel assured him

"How dangerous is this Angus?" Eanid asked. If the fae wasn't after Bran's sons or someone from his pack that only left Mark and Liz and little Bran. Worry for them filled her. Tangling with the fae was always hazardous. Even werewolves and vampires gave the fae a wide berth and they knew what they were going up against. A human, _her_ humans, whose knowledge of the fae came only from the sanitized fairy tales the fae leadership made sure stayed so popular, had no chance of coming out the winner in a one-on-one confrontation with a fae.

"Very," Samuel told her, "he alters reality. Makes you see, feel and hear things that aren't there."

"Does he have long nose with a bit of a hook at the end and dress in what looks to be burlap?" she asked, cringing inside when Samuel looked at her questioningly but answered, "Yes".

"And this Uncle Mike you're talking about, he owns a fae bar near the Pasco reservation?"

Another nod and her world crashed.

_One unguarded conversation and the lives of her vulnerable human family was threatened by a powerful angry fae. _

"Oh my God, Bran, what will he do to them?"

"Nothing," Bran was moving in front of her. "Absolutely, nothing," He lifted her in his arms then sat on the chair and settled her on his lap. His hand gently rubbed the back of neck, "If he has them we'll get them back," he sounded so calm, so sure.

Samuel and Charles watched them in silence. Samuel leaned forward in his chair, "Who are these people to you two?"

""I knew your Da when we were both human, I didn't know he'd been changed. I had no idea he was still alive until I saw him again yesterday. The people in Yellowstone, the one this Angus is after, they're distantly related to us. Angus found out about them and their relationship to your Da from me," she said, consciously keeping her hands relaxed and her voice neutral. Ripping apart the cushions or ripping into Bran's sons really wouldn't accomplish anything.

"How?"

"About eight months ago I spent an evening at Uncle Mike's. I was driving from Seattle to Salt Lake. I'd heard about the fae bar so when I got to Pasco I stopped there."

_"_How did you manage to go into a bar full of werewolves without the scent of a pack and come out unmolested?" Charles asked_. _

"I waited outside until I saw a werewolf leave," she told him, "I bumped into him and took on the scent of his pack."

"You can take on the scent of a pack you don't belong to?" Charles asked.

"I'm old. I have mad werewolf skills," she said wiggling her fingers of one hand in his direction.

Eanid leaned back in Bran's loose embrace. "When I went inside I met one of the Hill Folk, she calls herself Tom. Anyway, we were chatting and drinking Margaritas and I told her I was living with a human family, not a pack. That I was probably one of the few werewolf nannies in the states. Anyway, that led to talk about raising children, which led to talk about getting them in the first place. . . you know we were drinking, right?," she asked Bran's chin, deliberately keeping her eyes from meeting his.

"Umm hmm," he murmured, the sound rumbled through his chest and Eanid found herself relaxing into him even more.

"Okay, well," Eanid continued, and she picked up Bran's hand from the arm of the chair watching her finger trace the lines in his palm instead of at her audience. "We started talking about 'first times' and that my daughter was the result of mine. And what were the chances that you'd get 'caught' that easy. And that naturally led to a discussion about the father."

"Naturally," Bran agreed, closing his fingers over hers, trapping their hands together.

She paused, waiting for a sign from him that he wanted her to tell the whole of it to of his sons. When he gestured for her to continue she did. "And so I told Tom about him, my daughter's father. I told her that over thirteen centuries ago I met a tall, lanky young man with light brown hair who sang and played so well I'd never heard better, not before or since," She shrugged and finished, "I told her that his name was Bran, the bard from Dyfed."

"Da?"

"We'll talk about it later," Bran said coolly, and looked from one son to the other. Eanid assumed he'd been 'in their heads' because they both settled back without a word.

"Do you think Angus overheard you?" Charles asked, he gaze taking in his father's possessive hold on her hand before lifting to Eanid's face.

"I know he did. He came over to our table, ordered another round for me and Tom and told us all about his first love," Eanid sighed and said, "and then asked all about ours. Obviously, something I told him made him sure that the bard I assumed died over a millennia ago was really the Marrok."

"How did Angus find out about Yellowstone?" Charles asked.

"By the end of night Tom and I were best friends, I told her I would be back in July since Mark and Liz wanted to take Bran camping in Yellowstone and I would have a couple of weeks free. After six Margaritas it seemed like a great idea for us to meet up again."


End file.
